


birth among the ruins

by dana_norram



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alpha Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crusades Era Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Embedded Images, Knotting, Lactation, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, NSFW Art, Nesting, Nipple Play, Omega Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Porn with Feelings, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scenting, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28378368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram
Summary: Nicolò knew male omegas were a rare sight. Regularly plagued by heats, but unable to bear children, they were regarded as an abomination by the Church. Something made by the Devil Himself to tempt the first man with. A mockery of God’s creation, carefully crafted to trick Adam into sowing his seed into barren soil.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 116
Kudos: 692
Collections: Omega Nicky Holiday Gift Exchange





	birth among the ruins

**Author's Note:**

> This story is brought to you thanks to the indispensable help provide by [fedorah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedorah/pseuds/fedorah) and [Aqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/), both amazing writers who gave me precious suggestions, pointed out the necessary corrections and, overall, made this so much better.
> 
> I also want to thank all the lovely people in my Discord server for enabling this whole idea and also providing this fandom with so many fantastic works, unconditional support and cheering on. You guys are a gift that keep on giving. Seul and Luz, thank you both for reading this when it was just a draft and giving me courage to go forward with it.
> 
>  **EDIT:** The wonderful [Seul](https://twitter.com/luesi02) has made two stunning artworks for this story and I am forever in her debt. I have embedded both arts here and one of them is **NSFW** , so please, procced with caution.

In a way, their first coupling was much like their first deaths.

Something vicious, messy and unplanned, done mostly out of desperation. Nothing but a primal instinct to stay alive.

Nicolò feels Yusuf’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck, breathing warm and shallow as his heartbeat slowly settles down. Yusuf’s knot is a large and foreign weight pulsing inside of him, and it makes Nicolò feel grounded and overwhelmed at the same time. It reminded him of staying on his knees for hours, deep in prayer, both a hurt and a balm for his soul.

He does not feel like dying anymore, but it is a close thing. The heat continues to crawl beneath his skin, and his undershirt feel itchy against his chest and groin. He wants to strip completely, but he has neither the strength nor a desire to be seen.

His legs have begun to shake, threatening to cramp.

“Do not move,” Yusuf’s voice is rough against his ear. Nicolò tries to remember if Yusuf had shouted as he finally took him against the cavern floor. Nicolò surely did, and his throat feels almost raw now, his lips parched. The past hour was a blur of pain and pleasure and he realises the shame still burns almost as badly as the fever. “I do not want to hurt you.”

Nicolò can’t help snorting and he hides his face in the crook of his arm.

Not too long ago, Yusuf had killed him in every manner a man could kill another, and now he is trying to prevent him from suffering an agonizing, slow death. He did not have to. Yusuf should have left him to fend for himself. Maybe the heat fever would have taken him for good this time. That was the whole reason he had come to the Holy Land, after all. To seek absolution for what he was. To die fighting in the name of the Lord.

He had made a promise.

Nicolò must have fallen asleep, lured in by Yusuf’s warm, steady breathing, because suddenly it felt like he was back at the monastery and the Abbot was locking the door of his cell. In rushed tones, the old man explained to a fifteen year old Nicolò he had to pray. He told him how he needed to ask for forgiveness. Young Nicolò did not understand what he had done wrong, why he had to be locked away, but he fell to his knees all the same. He was grateful to be alive.

When he had presented during spring, his father had wanted to throw him into the sea, but his mother had not allowed it. She had smuggled Nicolò away. The Abbot was a friend of her family and he had promised to take care of her only son and care for Nicolò he did. For ten days straight before Nicolò’s heat he had made him drink a strong, bitter herb concoction. Then, he had helped Nicolò wrap himself in cloth soaked in wine so no alpha or beta for miles could smell him during the height of it.

 _God will watch over you_ , the old man had said as he had left Nicolò alone, promising to come back with food and water for the next days, as long as his heat would last. The door would remain locked from the outside and Nicolò was given a piece of wood to bite on so his screams could be muffled from the rest of the world. He accepted it and so he prayed. And so he screamed for another half of his life.

It’s more a memory than a dream, so Nicolò does not jolt awake when it ends. He feels Yusuf shifting against him even before he manages to pry his eyes open and he moans at the sensation before he can remember he should stay quiet. There is no piece of wood at hand, so he bites the inside of his arm instead. It hurts, but the teeth marks fade away too fast. He is still shivering from the fever and he feels Yusuf’s hand on his stomach trying to keep him still. He cannot help thinking about his first death and Yusuf’s blade slicing through fat and muscle.

“Almost there,” Yusuf says, and his fingers feel cool against his feverish skin. He runs them over the curve of Nicolò’s ass, then down, touching him where they are joined. “It may sting for a moment.”

It does, but Nicolò is expecting it, so he muffles his cry almost too easily. The feeling of Yusuf’s come leaking out of him, though, is almost painful, and he whimpers at the loss and at the emptiness before he realises what he is doing. Nicolò almost tries to stop Yusuf as he unwraps himself from him, but he stills himself just in time. He feels Yusuf’s hand on his face, touching his forehead.

“Shhh,” Yusuf hums. He sounds displeased, and Nicolò tries to ignore the desire to do something about it. “You need water,” Yusuf says, fingers briefly touching Nicolò’s dry lips.

He nods before he can stop himself and he barely registers the tiny smile on Yusuf’s face. He feels delirious still, half of his mind trapped in that stone cell in the monastery on the outskirts of Genoa, the other half here, in this cave, a different kind of cell. He wants to move about and to be useful. Maybe try to put his clothes in some degree of order at the very least, but he can hardly feel his legs at the moment.

Defeated, he watches as Yusuf sorts through their things, and he feels his heart leap in his chest when Yusuf brings their bedrolls close, helping Nicolò lie down. He only realises how hard and cold the cavern floor has been when he feels the soft fabric against his warm skin. He manages to supress a moan as he notices Yusuf had given him his own bedroll, his scent strong and earthy. Nicolò fights the urge to rub his cheek against the fabric, but barely. He has taken too much already.

He can still hear Yusuf’s hesitant voice from a fortnight ago, when the first signs of his upcoming heat became unmistakable. Yusuf had avoided his eyes as he made a new offer, and Nicolò had automatically shaken his head, unwilling to entertain the idea of dragging that kind man into his mess. He had dealt with his heats by himself for half of his life and he was confident he could keep doing it for as long as he needed to. He tried not to think about eternity and what that meant for him. For them.

Since Jerusalem, they have been visiting every market in every village and town on their way, trying to find the herbs Nicolò needed for his heat potion. It was his fault, really. He only had brought enough ingredients for six heats, or two years. The truth was he never thought he would last that long, not in war, surrounded by alphas and betas always drunk on wine and violence. Nicolò could never have thought he would never die again.

He never thought God could have plans for him, of all people.

“Omega?” was the first word out of Yusuf’s mouth that Nicolò understood without a shadow of doubt.

It was the second morning after Jerusalem and they had managed to find a stream after walking for hours under the blazing sun. Once they spotted the shallow waters, they exchanged a glance and ran to it like children, both of them desperate to wash away the blood, the gore, the death. And Nicolò was so weary from the hunger and the thirst and lack of sleep, he did not even think before he began to strip off his rags inside the water.

“You are an omega,” Yusuf had said in Sabir, when Nicolò did not move from his spot by the stream bank. “How?”

They stared at each other for a long time. Nicolò did not know what to answer. He thought he should feel afraid of that alpha, as he was taught by the Abbot. As he had experienced during his time in the army, always looking over his shoulder, waiting for his disguise as a beta to blow up. He thought he should fear Yusuf, but he could not bring himself to. Not when Yusuf had sounded like someone had just punched him in the gut. His nostrils were flaring and his eyes were bright like he was about to weep. He looked both distressed and hopeful. It was unsettling, and Nicolò did not know how to deal with it.

 _How?_ the question hung over them like a rope, and Nicolò could not tell what the answer was.

Did Yusuf want to know about the day Nicolò presented? How he was the only son, heir of a prominent family, training to be a knight? How his future seemed settled until the heat fever took him and shocked his whole family and half of Genoa? Or did he want to know why Nicolò left the safety of the monastery in the mountains? How he promised the old Abbot on his deathbed that he would march and help to take back Jerusalem... so God might allow his tainted soul in Heaven?

Nicolò knew male omegas were a rare sight. Regularly plagued by heats, but unable to bear children, they were regarded as an abomination by the Church. Something made by the Devil Himself to tempt the first man with. A mockery of God’s creation, carefully crafted to trick Adam into sowing his seed into barren soil.

He had been the first in his family and every time he closed his eyes, Nicolò could hear his father shouting how he no longer had a son. He did not understand his anger then. His shame. He understood it years later, when he met another male omega for the first time in his life, as he travelled along the Christian army. That one had been a prostitute, and several soldiers had taken their turns with him.

Nicolò remembered the panic settling deep inside his belly as he saw the first man taking his place behind the omega’s prone form, pulling his breeches down. His own heat was still months away, but he stumbled away from the crowd to soak his clothes with more vinegary wine. In the following days, his fellow soldiers had made jests, wondering how Nicolò managed to keep atop of his horse since he seemed to be drunk all the time and he laughed back, secretly relieved.

Since Nicolò joined the army, he had forsaken baths and let his hair grown wild, matted and tangled to mask his lack of beard. He looked revolting. It was no wonder Yusuf sounded so surprised in the stream, when the first layers of filth were finally washed away, along with his farce.

“I can help you, Nicolò,” Yusuf had said a month into their partnership.

They had learned each other’s names, but not their stories, not then. Nicolò could not bring himself to talk about his fears of the past, so he spoke about his fears of the future. Yusuf had similar ones. What did their immortality mean? What were God’s intentions? Who were the women in their dreams? Could they help them? How were they going to find them? Was his heat going to be any different because he could not die?

“I have done it before,” Yusuf said then in a voice that made Nicolò shiver. He could not tell if it was something Yusuf did or something alphas did in general. After he had presented, he had never been too close to any alpha for longer lengths of time. Even in the army, he always fought alongside betas. But he felt safe around Yusuf in a way he never thought he could.

They had just visited another market, another stall, trying to find the herbs Nicolò needed for his potion, with no luck. They were too far away from the major ports, trying to avoid the battles for the Holy Land. Nicolò suspected Yusuf was doing that for Nicolò’s sake rather than his own. The further east they went, the less talking about the war they heard and the harder it seemed to be to find what he needed. Of course, it did not help that Nicolò only knew the names of his herbs in Ligurian, his Sabir out of practice since he was taken to the monastery. He knew enough to understand what Yusuf had offered, though.

“It will be fine,” he blushed and he refused every time, and Yusuf always nodded, although he looked pained at his words, as if he knew something Nicolò did not and Nicolò wanted to know, but he could not form the words. That man was being kind enough to not leave him alone to starve, Nicolò could ask no more of him. He did not know what to make of this sad joke of making an alpha and an omega immortals together, but he would not perpetuate it if he could help it. Yusuf did not deserve to be stuck with him for eternity. Not after Nicolò had killed him so many times. Not after what Nicolò and his people had done to his.

When his heat finally struck, Nicolò was fine for one night. They had found a cave with a small opening so Yusuf could keep guard and Nicolò had sat in the back, his clothes doused in cheap wine, and he had waited until the pain had become unbearable. He had been expecting it to be bad, but it was somehow worse. He should have foreseen it, but he had been too proud. It was his first full-blown heat since he presented fifteen years ago and it was the first one he had to endure both without his potions and with an unmated alpha so close by.

As he fought the screams tearing their way out of his throat, he finally understood why Yusuf had looked as he was in pain every time Nicolò had refused his offer. He must have known how bad it would be, solely because of his own presence. Yusuf also must have known he would be affected by Nicolò’s heat and he was again trying to spare him from more unknown, unnecessary pain. But Nicolò was a fool and he prayed for forgiveness as he doubled over in agony and begged for death to come.

It did not. Yusuf had approached him in the small hours of the morning and when Nicolò looked up, lucid, but miserable, eyes red from crying and from lack of sleep, Yusuf made his offer again, hands balled into fists, his face twisted. Nicolò thought about refusing him once more, just one more time, but the fever had finally burned away his pride. So he nodded and gritted his teeth as a new heat wave ran through his body like knives under his skin.

He moaned half in pain, half in pleasure when Yusuf’s cool fingers finally touched his bare hips.

“Here,” says Yusuf as he presses the waterskin against Nicolò’s mouth. “Slow... little sips, yes, you are doing so good.”

Nicolò shrinks under the weight of Yusuf’s praise and he wonders if this is what they call heat bonding. Of course, Yusuf had been gentle with him before, ever since that morning in the stream. No, even before that. Ever since Yusuf had stopped killing him first. Since he had offered his hand and helped Nicolò rise in that field of death. Maybe Yusuf felt responsible for him. Maybe he did not see this as a sick joke.

“Thank you,” Nicolò says, the words feeling too loud inside his skull as they exit his lips. “I am better now.”

“No, you are not,” Yusuf replies with a gentle laugh, a hand against Nicolò’s forehead. “I will need to knot you again today, at least once, yes? Then you should try to get some sleep.”

Nicolò tries and fails not to shiver in both shame and anticipation when he nods and turns onto his stomach. Somewhere above his head, Yusuf makes a distressful sound and Nicolò wants to ask what is wrong, what _he_ did wrong, but he doesn’t get a chance, as Yusuf bares his bottom and presses his cock against his wet entrance, mounting him with ease and determination. Nicolò feels the air being punched out of his lungs and the pain and the fever abide almost instantly, like embers doused with cold water. He moans and moans before his brain finally catches up with his mouth and he tries to swallow them down.

He presses his forehead against Yusuf’s bedroll as he is rocked forward by his thrusts and he inhales Yusuf’s strong scent and it is almost as good as the feeling building inside of him, his own cock straining. Nicolò does not remember coming during their first coupling, but he must have, surely? He can smell it and if he can, he thinks, mortified, so can Yusuf.

He whimpers at the thought of coming untouched again as Yusuf’s thrusts become faster and his knot starts to swell, catching against his rim. Unlike Nicolò, Yusuf does not seem to care if the whole world can hear him, his groans are deep and unapologetic, punctuated by words in Arabic Nicolò can only guess the meaning of, but they make him shiver all the same.

Yusuf mouths at the back of his neck when they are locked together again and he helps him lie down on his side. He does not really know how long it took for Yusuf’s first knot to come down, but Nicolò is still painfully hard this time and when Yusuf presses his chest against his back, his knot shifts inside him, rubbing over something that makes his toes curl. Nicolò moans before he can stop himself, and he clenches around Yusuf, who grunts in his ear. He cannot tell if Yusuf is in pain or not and he is about to apologise when he feels Yusuf’s hand on his stomach and then, around his cock. Yusuf’s fingers only need to stroke him a couple of times before Nicolò comes with a shout, his eyelids falling shut.

“Sleep now,” Yusuf says, settling his weight against him.

With exhaustion seeping into his bones, Nicolò falls into a dreamless slumber and it is night-time when he stirs wake again.

He first notices how Yusuf is still pressed against his back, his arms around his body and he almost closes his eyes once more, burying himself in that safe and warm sensation, when he understands there is something wrong. Yusuf’s scent feels abruptly too sharp, like it happened often on the road, every time they encountered stray packs of alphas, who always made dirty jokes as they spotted Nicolò and recognised him for what he was.

Nicolò can feel Yusuf shifting behind him, his breathing too heavy and laboured. He smells of fear, and it fills Nicolò with dread. For a moment, he forgets about his heat and turns his head around, wondering where his sword is, though he probably does not have the strength to yield it.

He is surprised to find Yusuf’s eyes closed. He looks as if he is still asleep, but his lips are moving like he is praying. His face is twisted and Nicolò finally understands Yusuf is having a nightmare of some kind. His knot has come down at some point of time during the last hours, and Nicolò disentangles their bodies quickly, grateful for his fast healing.

Yusuf does not seem to notice what is happening around him, and at first, Nicolò does not understand the words coming out of his mouth, but he soon recognizes the Arabic words for “please” and “alone” and none of those sound like they belong in any prayer he has heard Yusuf say during the past few months. He makes a decision and acts before he can overthink it, as he puts his hands on Yusuf’s shoulders and shakes him wake.

It happens fast, and Nicolò finds himself on his back, ribs squashed against his lungs. Breathless, he stares up at Yusuf’s face, still twisted into something that looks like pain, but could also be rage. Nicolò knows that look as well. It is too similar with what he saw outside of Jerusalem, after Yusuf gasped alive for the third or fourth time and tried to murder him with his bare hands.

Except this time, Nicolò is not afraid. He knows Yusuf will not do him any harm ever again. Not when he spent the last hours trying to ease his pain. Not when he visited every single market they could find, spoke to every single vendor, showed them the drawings of the herbs he had made based on Nicolò’s descriptions. Not when he put his own cloak on Nicolò’s back before they entered crowded places, so Nicolò could have another layer of protection. Yusuf sheltered him, his own enemy, and now Nicolò could not think of a way to ease Yusuf’s pain.

He watches as Yusuf absentmindedly palms the side his own neck, where he would have a mark if he was mated, the skin unblemished and perfect beneath his long fingers. For a moment, he wonders if Yusuf thinks Nicolò has bitten him against his will and that thought alone makes him want to throw up.

A sob erupts from Nicolò’s throat before he can feel the tears burn hot against his face and he calls Yusuf’s name just once and that is what it takes to break whatever spell he is under. Yusuf blinks once, twice, his bright eyes focused for the first time since he woke from his nightmare.

“Nicolò-” he says, his voice stricken with grief, his fingers caressing the side of Nicolò’s face. “Nicolò, I am so sorry, I did not-”

Yusuf makes an attempt to stand, but Nicolò is afraid he will run and hide if he does and the mere idea of Yusuf being far from him seems intolerable, so he grabs both of Yusuf’s arms, keeping him in place. He feels Yusuf’s muscles tense beneath his fingers.

“Please,” he begs. “Do not go.”

 _Do not leave me here alone_ , he does not say, but he thinks it and the idea is almost as bad as if he was saying the words aloud, making them as real as they could be and a new sob escapes from his lips.

Nicolò only realises he is crying when he feels Yusuf’s cool fingers on his face, wiping his tears away. He lets him. He does not try to hide and he feels like his chest is about to burst when Yusuf tips his head forward and presses his lips against his forehead. He lets out a new sound and it is less of a sob, more something else. His face is on fire again and he feels himself harden against Yusuf’s thigh. He is surprised to not feel embarrassed this time.

  
art by [Seul](https://twitter.com/luesi02)

Yusuf laughs a half laugh and he presses his nose against Nicolò’s damp, short hair. Yusuf had been the one who helped him cut it short with a sharper dagger, once his attempts to untangle the knots had proved impossible. As Yusuf breathes in, Nicolò thinks it feels almost as good as his lips against his skin had felt and he is struck by the desire to sink his fingers into Yusuf’s rich beard, to rub his cheek against it. He manages to stop just in time, but only because his stomach growls loudly before he can move.

“Food first, I think.” Yusuf says with a tentative, warm smile and Nicolò cannot help smiling back.

Despite the bright moonlight, Nicolò helps Yusuf build a fire so they can see better, and now with some of his strength back he pulls on his breeches again and goes outside the cave for a breath of fresh air, using the time to relieve his bladder. Once back inside, Nicolò washes his hands and face and he wanders around the cave, collecting some of their belongings and piling their cloaks against their bedrolls in order to make it softer to lay down on it. He feels Yusuf’s eyes on him and does not give in to the urge to rub his face against the pile of clothes. He unpacks their food bags instead.

It feels almost ordinary, he thinks, to share a meal with Yusuf in the middle of this. His chest fills with happiness when Yusuf accepts it as he offers to feed him a piece of cured meat. Yusuf’s lips feel warm against the tips of his fingers and he takes his hand away far too quickly, like he touched an open flame. Nicolò knows by now he can heal from every wound inflicted upon him, which does not mean he is not afraid of the pain.

Yusuf’s gaze feels too much, and Nicolò tries to think of something to say that does not have anything to do with the events of the past hours. He can still feel Yusuf’s come inside his body, after Yusuf has knotted him not once, but twice. He can still see Yusuf’s terrified look after he had woken from his nightmare. Nicolò looks around and he breathes in relief as he finds a subject to talk about on the bag of dried fruit laying between them. He takes a date and bites into it, savouring its sweet, sticky taste.

“Those are good, you know,” he says, and Yusuf blinks at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “I thought you said they were probably bad... because the vendor just gave them to us?”

Nicolò is just trying to make a conversation about something mild, so he is surprised when Yusuf’s shoulders slump and he avoids his eyes. He almost starts to panic, wondering what he did wrong this time, when Yusuf lets out a deep breath and looks back at him. He seems sheepish, at the very least.

“To you,” Yusuf says with a sad smile. “He gave them to you.”

Nicolò is about to protest when his memory catches up and he remembers the fruit vendor in a small village two or three days East of Damascus. He was an older man, well into his fifties, an alpha with a faded mating mark on his neck, the sign of a widower. His beard was struck with grey and he treated Nicolò with nothing but kindness when he had asked in broken Arabic about the contents of his stall. In a way, he reminded Nicolò of the old Abbot, although him had been a beta. It felt nice, Nicolò thought then, to be treated well by a complete stranger. Not even once had it occurred to Nicolò that that alpha could be interested in him, but it made sense. That man probably already had children of his own, but he was lonely, so he would want an omega to warm his bed.

“I am sorry,” Yusuf says when he notices Nicolò’s fallen face. He cannot help it, for the sweetness of the date has turned sour on his tongue and he puts the rest of it away, uncertain of what he is feeling at the moment. In a way, he feels disappointed in himself, mostly. It is similar of how he felt when he had presented and his father had screamed at him, but somehow, it feels worse now, because he knows he has made Yusuf sad.

“Nicolò, look at me.”

He does and he notices Yusuf has moved so they are almost touching, their faces too close for it to be comfortable. Yusuf’s eyes always look beautiful, but up close Nicolò feels he can almost find himself in them, the warmth of a lighthouse during a sea storm.

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, his voice firm and unyielding, and Nicolò wants to believe him more than anything.

“I have allowed an alpha to be too forward with me,” the words sound almost hysterical, ridiculous even, but somehow they become more real as he says them aloud. “I disrespected you. You lend me your cloak so I could be safer and I let that alpha think I was available...”

“You are a-” Yusuf stops before he can finish, his face twisted, like his unsaid words, whatever they are, cause him nothing but agony. “You did nothing wrong.” He repeats, instead, and Nicolò almost believes him this time. “I should not have put you in that position, it was wrong of me. That alpha just saw a beautiful, unmated omega and he was a bit flirty, but I am sure he meant no harm.”

Nicolò shudders at Yusuf’s words, though he does not know why. He does feel his face warm and he thinks he is just embarrassed by the conversation when he realises his heat is beginning to spike up again. He is wet between his legs and warm inside his belly. His chest itches against the fabric of his undershirt and he wants to strip himself completely bare, but the thought of Yusuf’s eyes on all of him makes him too breathless to even move.

“Yusuf-” he tries as he licks his lips. “I-”

“Yes,” Yusuf agrees, nostrils flaring, pupils blown, before Nicolò can say anything else. “ _Yes_.”

Yusuf helps Nicolò to lie down on their bedrolls. He undoes the straps of Nicolò’s breeches and helps him take them off, followed by his upper tunic. Nicolò’s feverish skin shivers against the cold night air, so he is deeply grateful when Yusuf does not remove his undershirt. His chest feels too sensitive and he does not want to think about it at the moment. He concentrates on the feeling of Yusuf’s hands on his thighs as he spreads his legs apart. He bites on his lower lip when he feels himself getting wetter and harder under Yusuf’s gaze.

“You are the most-” Yusuf begins, but he never has a chance to finish, because in the hurry to put Nicolò’s legs over his shoulders so he can sink inside of him, Yusuf knocks an elbow against Nicolò’s chest and the angle is bad and it makes Nicolò to hiss in pain. He hugs himself before he can even register what’s happening and Yusuf grunts like he was punched. He raises both hands almost immediately.

“Nicolò, I am sorry,” he says in a small voice. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Nicolò’s shakes his head, his chest on fire. The pain is almost as bad as the one beginning to eat inside of his belly. He swallows down, trying to breathe, and he opens his eyes. He never even noticed he had closed them.

“It hurts,” he says, raising his arms a fraction so they are now just hovering right above his chest without touching against it. “It hurts, Yusuf,” he repeats, unable to elaborate any further.

Yusuf breathes out and touches Nicolò’s shoulders with care as he helps him to sit up again, both hands firm but gentle on his sides. “It is fine,” he says in a soothing voice, running his hands up and down Nicolò’s arms. “Let me take a look, please.”

It is the _please_ that makes him relent, Nicolò knows, as he raises his arms above his head, allowing Yusuf to strip him completely bare at last. He keeps his eyes closed the entire time, so he does not see the look on Yusuf’s face, but he hears his breath being drawn in, followed by a strangled sound. Nicolò finally lets curiosity get the better of him and he looks down.

Yusuf’s eyes are glued to his chest, and when Nicolò follows his gaze he almost hugs himself again, his face heating up in shame. He has spent all of his heats half asleep because of the potion, half delirious because of the fever, and he has always been completely covered, head to toe, and he has hurt all over, so he has never paid particular attention to his own chest before, but now he cannot pry his eyes away from it.

His nipples, usually pinkish and flat, are now red and swollen like small breasts and they look as sore as they feel. Yusuf’s hands just under his ribs, keeping him still, his thumbs too close to his chest and somehow too far away.

“May I?” he says, and Nicolò does not know what exactly he is asking permission for. Nicolò feels he will begin to sob if he tries to form a word, any word, so he just nods and almost chokes on nothing when Yusuf tips his head forward and brushes a chaste kiss against the sensitive skin. Yusuf looks up at him at his repressed sound, waiting, and Nicolò does not know where his courage comes from, but he nods again and his breathing becomes suddenly harder as he watches Yusuf to open his mouth and to touch one of the sore nipples with his tongue, closing his lips around it.

The sound that leaves Nicolò’s throat is something he never thought he would be capable of, but he does not have time to feel embarrassed, because too soon Yusuf moves his efforts to his other nipple, latching on to it, his dextrous fingers working gently on the first one, still wet from his saliva. Nicolò twitches in his hold, strung up like a man on the gallows, and he does not dare move, afraid he will choke to death if he does.

The sensation of Yusuf’s coarse beard against his chest is almost as overwhelming as the touch of his tongue, and Nicolò only realises he is laying on the ground again when he moves his head back and meets the softness of their bedrolls and their cloaks nestled together. His eyelids fall shut and he is vaguely aware of the heat building inside of his belly when Yusuf groans against his chest.

That mere sound combined with the feeling of his nipples being sucked on and rubbed against makes the slick between his thighs run freely, and Nicolò is about to close them, embarrassed by how desperate his body feels for Yusuf, when Yusuf lets go of his chest for a moment, so he can hook one of Nicolò’s legs over his shoulder, the other one above the crook of his arm.

Nicolò stares up as he feels Yusuf hesitate, only for a moment, and his toes curl when Yusuf finally decides to bury his cock inside him. It goes almost too easily, for Nicolò is still loose from their previous coupling, slippery with his own slick and Yusuf’s come. His chest expands, his nipples no longer sore, but still sensitive in the cold air in the cave, Yusuf’s saliva cooling his feverish skin. He feels compelled to touch his chest and when he does, he is surprised his fingers come away too wet. He takes them into his mouth, expecting to taste Yusuf, but instead there’s something vaguely sweet mixed with it.

He gasps as Yusuf changes his angle, moving in deep, gentle thrusts. Nicolò wants to look into his eyes, but he cannot bear to, so he tries to focus on every other part of Yusuf’s available to him. His bare chest, lean and strong muscles vibrating beneath his skin with the effort to keep Nicolò’s legs up and spread apart. His long, thick curls framing his face like a veil, trembling slightly as he moves his head forward, once again aiming for Nicolò’s chest.

  
art by [Seul](https://twitter.com/luesi02)

Nicolò gasps as Yusuf latches on to a nipple and grabs his long hair between his fingers softly, but firmly, desperate to keep him there for a little while. Yusuf groans at his touch and he sucks in eagerly, almost in the same rhythm as his thrusts and something inside of Nicolò seems to give in and he lets out a sound, something between a moan and a sob as he spills between their bodies. He moves Yusuf’s head to his other nipple without realising what he is doing, and Yusuf whimpers as his knot starts to catch, Nicolò squeezing down around him. He feels when Yusuf begins to pulse deep inside and he comes again, fingers now holding onto Yusuf’s curls almost too painfully, his head thrown back, mouth hanging open in a silent plea.

Nicolò loses notion of time and space for a moment. When he blinks and looks around, maybe several minutes later, he finds himself half collapsed over Yusuf’s body, one leg thrown over his waist, Yusuf’s knot inside of him. He realises Yusuf must have pulled him over, so Nicolò’s head rests on Yusuf’s breastbone. He inhales his strong scent with a smile. As an afterthought, Nicolò remembers the sweet taste on his fingers and he realises his nipples are no longer sore even as they directly rub against Yusuf’s chest hair.

“How did you know?” he asks as their breathing evens out, the cracking of the fire the only other constant sound inside the cave.

Nicolò knows he does not need to elaborate and Yusuf lets out a heavy sigh, his hand coming up to massage his scalp. His voice sounds unexpectedly sad to Nicolò’s ears.

“I told you,” he says. “I have done this before.”

A frosty sensation spreads all over Nicolò’s insides as realisation settles in. He licks his own lips to give himself time to think over his next words. He does not want to ask, and he knows he should. Yusuf could have changed the subject, but he did not. He is allowing Nicolò into his past and it would be rude of him to close that door.

“You don’t have a mark,” Nicolò says, as he thinks about Yusuf’s nightmare earlier on, his hand on his neck, searching for something that was not there. He remembers the alpha vendor and cannot help a shiver. “Not even a faded one.”

There is a long stretch of silence and Nicolò could almost pretend Yusuf has fallen asleep, if is not for the hand on his scalp, gentle fingers caressing his short strands of hair.

“I did,” Yusuf says, and his voices sounds distant, like he is speaking from somewhere in the past. “I had until the day we met.”

Nicolò thinks he should feel grateful that Yusuf says, ‘the day we met’ and not ‘the day you killed me’, but it feels like something is missing and he holds himself still, as if waiting for a blow. But the only movements are the raising and falling of Yusuf’s chest and the touch of his fingers against his scalp.

“We were both too young, but our parents had already agreed and we had little saying in the matter.” Yusuf does not sound upset and Nicolò understands. He was himself promised to the daughter of another Genovese family before he presented and everything changed. “We only met on the day of our wedding. She was a frightened little thing, but she tried not to show it. I thought we could be happy together.”

Yusuf lets out a small laugh, but if he is laughing at his own innocence or something else, Nicolò cannot tell, for he does not speak again for several minutes after.

“How did it happen?” He asks then, half afraid of the answer, but more scared of the silence.

“Childbirth.” Yusuf says, and Nicolò closes his eyes in pain. “The baby did not make it either.”

Nicolò never once entertained the thought of having children of his own, for he had always known it was impossible, but knowing that something small and innocent, something that would be half of Yusuf, had died, fills him with a heavy sadness which settles inside his belly. He shifts against Yusuf’s chest, but does his best not to move his legs. His chest feels tight.

“My parents tried to have me remarried after the mourning period was over, but I did not listen to them this time. I have never loved her, and even so it hurt so badly...” Yusuf’s voice drops and his fingers in Nicolò’s hair still for a moment. “So I went away, I worked, I travelled, and I helped other omegas with their heats, let some of them help me in return.”

Nicolò is hyperaware of Yusuf’s knot still inside him and how he simply is not allowed to leave this conversation even if he wanted to. It would be unfair in any case, since he was the one who started it. He is taken by surprise when Yusuf grabs one of his hands and puts it over his neck. Nicolò feels his heartbeat and the unscarred skin beneath his fingers.

“I felt it vanish as my chest knit itself together.” Yusuf does not sound hesitant now, he seems like he is merely telling a story he reviewed in his mind too many times. “All my older scars remained. The one on my knee, from the time I fell off a horse when I was eight? Here. And the one on my arm from when I got hit by an arrowhead on the first day of the siege? Here. But my mating mark was gone like it never existed. Like the wound you made when you ran your sword through my chest.”

Yusuf lets out a small laugh, ruffling a few strands of Nicolò’s hair in the process. It’s a good thing he cannot see the look of growing despair on Nicolò’s face.

“And I thought God was punishing me for losing faith, for not mourning my mate enough, for taking for granted what we had, the short time we had. I thought I was paying for all the comfort I sought in the arms of others-”

Yusuf’s voice falters and he does sound pained now, and that pain bleeds all over Nicolò’s heart, spreading like poison, and he knows how far gone he is because in that moment he would have cut off his own arm if that meant he could end Yusuf’s suffering. He turns his face up, so he can look at him and he feels a tremor down his spine once he realises Yusuf is staring back.

They look at each other like time had stopped and Nicolò does not think it through as he raises his hand and sinks his fingers into Yusuf’s beard, amazed by its bristly and yet gentle feeling. He realises he wants to rub his cheek against it and he doesn’t know what comes over him, but he pulls Yusuf down with his hand. He presses their lips together.

It’s a chaste kiss, with no tongue, and it’s too short to count, but Nicolò thinks he can almost taste himself on it.

“Why?” Yusuf eyes are bright once they part.

“You looked sad.” Nicolò replies, wondering if he made a mistake, but there is a tiny smile tugging at the corners of Yusuf’s mouth and he tips his head forward, brushing their noses together. The breathing that escapes Yusuf’s lips caresses his own, unsaid words drawn out in the air between.

“I thought He had it removed so I would be sentenced to wander this earth alone,” Yusuf continues, and Nicolò tries not to breathe, too afraid of what will happen if he moves but an inch. “Eternally, unable to die.”

And as Yusuf speaks, fear begins to build inside Nicolò’s heart and soul, for Yusuf’s perception becomes clear with each word and with each word Nicolò knows he needs to put an end to it.

“I thought I was being punished as I gasped back to life, again and again,” their faces are so close now that Nicolò can feel Yusuf’s eyelashes brushing against his. “But as I woke, I was never alone for long, because you rose as well, again and again.”

Nicolò knows he needs to tell Yusuf that cannot be what God had intended for him. He needs for Yusuf to understand that he is mistaken, because Nicolò is a broken thing, an abomination among God’s creatures. He is not a gift, but a curse and Yusuf does not deserve to spend eternity with someone who cannot give him anything of value. He feels tears prickling the side of his eyes and his stomach hurts and his chest hurts by the idea of being apart from Yusuf, but he opens his mouth anyway.

He does not get to say the words, for Yusuf takes his parted lips as a sign. He presses their mouths together, pushing his tongue against Nicolò’s, and they both gasp at the warm, overwhelming feeling. Nicolò closes his eyes, anchored by his fingers in Yusuf’s beard and Yusuf’s hand on his scalp, and he allows it when Yusuf rolls them both so he can lie on top of him, deepening the kiss in the process. He wraps one of his legs around Yusuf’s waist and drags him closer, deeper.

Yusuf’s knot is almost coming down, and Nicolò feels himself getting hard again under the weight of Yusuf’s attention, and everything feels so exhilarating that a moan erupts between them. Yusuf breaks their kiss so he can raise his head and look down as he begins to move inside of Nicolò again. Nicolò gasps at the feeling and pulls Yusuf in with the heel of his foot against the small of his back. Yusuf nods and he thrusts at the same time as he kisses every inch available of Nicolò’s skin, his forehead and his lips, his neck and his shoulders, his collarbone.

He ends up kissing Nicolò’s chest once more, and Nicolò whimpers when Yusuf’s tongue finds his hard nipples again. Something feels different as Yusuf sucks on them this time and the feeling alone is enough to make Nicolò come once more. Soon Yusuf’s thrusts begin to falter until he stills inside of him, his face pressed against Nicolò’s chest as he tries to catch his breath. And Nicolò finally understand what’s wrong when Yusuf searches for his lips again and he feels that strange, sweet taste on them, combined with something wet in Yusuf’s beard.

“Is that...?” Nicolò does not dare to say the words, a cold-warm sensation settling in his heart. “It cannot be.”

Nicolò follows Yusuf’s eyes to his chest, to his nipples leaking a pearly white substance, both still swollen, but no longer red or sore. Yusuf looks up with a smile on his beautiful face, and Nicolò wants to believe in his hope, but he knows no other truth.

“I cannot bear children,” he says in a small voice.

“Your body thinks it can,” Yusuf says as he runs a tongue against one of Nicolò’s nipples, catching a drop and licking it clean. “It tastes like it can.”

Nicolò wants to cry, but it comes out as a sad laugh as he snorts through his nose.

“He made me broken,” he repeats the words as he was taught, as a prayer, a confession.

Nicolò watches as Yusuf traces his long fingers over his soft belly. He cannot help remembering the pain he felt as Yusuf’s sword sliced him open.

“He remade you unbreakable,” Yusuf looks up, so they are staring into each other’s eyes and Nicolò tears up, as he realises he cannot find a fault in his reasoning.

He smiles, despite the fear that hovers around his heart. It is not a physical wound so he cannot ask Yusuf to open up his chest and take it away. It has been there for too long, and Yusuf seems to understand, because he tilts his head and he presses their foreheads together. Nicolò breathes in his scent as he feels his heat abide at last and, for the first time in his life, he lets himself believe, just a little.

  
  


_We've inherited hope-  
the gift of forgetting.  
You'll see how we give  
birth among the ruins._  
**Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition  
\- Wisława Szymborska**

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please, consider leaving a comment/kudos to help your content creator’s daily serotonin levels. <3 And: can you let me know in case I forgot to tag something? I have tried my best, but there was _a lot_ happening here. You can also reach me @ [Tumblr](http://negotiumcrucis.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> So, this is my very first attempt at omegaverse and yet, it turned into the longest piece of TOG fanfiction I have written until this very day (the Big Bang is on its way to change it, tho). I am the first one to admit a/b/o is not my favourite trope, but I guess this fandom has become a rather fertile breeding ground to try new things. It was fun.
> 
> Also, in case you like this trope and want to read more takes on it, make sure to check the [Omega Nicky Holiday Gift Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/OmegaNickyAlphaJoeHolidayFics/works), a collection of beautiful works made by the talented authors from the top!Joe Discord server. <3


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